Cavendish himself had been lured westward, waylaid in some manner and made prisoner, as she and Westcott had suspected.
Through the co-operation of Lacy he had been brought to this desert den, where he could be held indefinitely, with no chance of discovery--killed if necessary.

She had heard of such places as this, read of them, yet never before had she realised the possibility of their real existence.

It all seemed more like a delirium of fever than an actual fact.

She rubbed her eyes, gazing about on the rock walls, scarcely sure she was actually awake.

Why, one might ride across that desert, and pass by within a hundred yards of its rim, and never even be aware of the existence of this sunken valley.